


Quality Time

by dino76



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Brothers, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 12:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dino76/pseuds/dino76
Summary: “Well, since my sparring partner has not returned yet and yours is currently incapacitated, why don’t you train with me, mh?” he offers lightly. Immediately the little angel looks up again, eyes wide and round.“I can train with you?” he asks wide-eyed, seemingly unable to believe his words. “Just the two of us?”“Yes, if you’d like to.” But then Sam’s face clouds over again. “Something wrong?”





	Quality Time

**Author's Note:**

> Just some innocent brotherly bonding fluff. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Amenadiel returns to the outskirts of the Silver City in a splendid mood. He spent the morning fulfilling his Father’s wishes and running errands. As the eldest of all of God’s children, he takes his job very seriously. He knows that their parents have certain expectations, especially in him, and under no circumstance does he want to disappoint them or set a bad example for the younger ones. They _all_ look up to him – even if they do not always want to admit it. Therefore, his is a job that requires _absolute_ commitment.

 

Descending, he slows his flight and lands lightly on the soft grass. With a roll of his shoulders, his wings vanish for he does not need them right now. The task set by his Father did not take him as much time as first expected; therefore Amenadiel finds himself with unexpected free time on his hands and he decides to use it productively and practice his sword fighting. He is the strongest of God’s children, but one could only truly excel if one practiced diligently and regularly.

 

With a spring in his step he approaches the training ground, noticing the unusual silence. The sound of clattering swords and his siblings’ laughter are conspicuously missing this afternoon. Perhaps Mother has kept them inside for their studying. She does that sometimes when they are particularly unruly or have been straining her patience with their rambunctiousness. He steps around the corner and lets his gaze sweep across the open field, stopping at the lone figure that sits on a rock to his right. Amenadiel immediately recognises the small boy as his youngest brother. Samael’s head is bent and he doesn’t seem to notice Amenadiel’s approach, which gives the latter plenty of time to gauge his brother’s mood.

 

A sullen expression adorns the little face, the heel of one small foot morosely kicking against the rough surface of his chosen seat, while he uses both hands to dig the tip of a wooden training sword into the soft ground. The depth and multitude of the misshapen patterns on the ground indicate that he has been at it for some time now. Another wooden sword lies discarded on the ground several feet away. Some sort of altercation must have occurred, Amenadiel decides. Samael eyes remain firmly on the ground although by now he must have sensed his brother’s arrival.

 

“Why so sullen, Sammy?” Amenadiel asks good-naturedly as he comes to a halt next to him.

 

“Don’t call me that,” the little boy replies grumpily without looking up. “I’m not a baby.” Biting back a grin at the time-old argument, Amenadiel quickly amends, “My apologies, Samael. – Now, what’s got you in such a mood?”

 

“Mum scolded me!” he burst out angrily, dark eyes flashing as he looks up, as if he only waited for someone to ask him of his sorrows. Raising his eyebrows, Amenadiel fights down the premature urge to defend their Mother’s actions, as has been deeply ingrained over the years, but considers the possible options. He _knew_ their Mother would not reprimand Sam if it wasn’t justified, but his brother obviously does not see himself at fault for whatever he has done. Samael, Amenadiel thinks ruefully, has always been the most difficult – the most wilful – of his siblings. His temper is easily frayed and he is prone to lash out in anger, if provoked. But also very affectionate and hungry for love. He will not accomplish anything if he berates his brother right now, Amenadiel decides. A subtler approach would be in order.

 

“Unjustly?” he asks in a neutral tone, settling down next to Samael to avoid looming over him.

 

“Yes!” Dark eyes flash again. “It was unfair!” Something that Amenadiel highly doubts, but he manages to supress the sceptical look that threatens to creep onto his face.

 

“Okay, why don’t you tell me about it?” Amenadiel coaxes gently. “Maybe I can help.” He bumps Samael’s shoulder with his arm. Huffing Sam returns his attention to the wooden sword in his hands and the patterns on the ground.

 

“Father said that we have to train diligently to become truly proficient in every task. So Uriel and I were training with the swords,” Samael starts after a few beats of silence, lifting the sword in his hand half-heartedly. That is not an unusual occurrence. Uriel and Samael are two of the youngest angels and often paired together in training. It seldom went well, though. Their tempers are just too similar. Amenadiel supresses a sigh, a gloomy foreboding already settling in the pit of his stomach. He had spent countless afternoons breaking up fights and scuffles between those two. “I want to become a good sword fighter. – Just like you. Or maybe Michael. And make Father proud.” Samael throws a quick glance at Amenadiel out of the corner of his eye, the tip of his sword digging into the ground again. Amenadiel can’t help but feel proud upon hearing his brother’s words, but quickly fights it back down. Pride is a sin. “But Uriel cheats!”

 

“He cheats?”

 

“Yes! He says that he _sees the patterns_. – But it’s cheating! – I told him to stop, but he didn’t.” Watching Samael closely, Amenadiel sees his ears and neck flush in anger and frustration, his temper already boiling again. Samael’s temper and lack of impulse-control usually got him in trouble with their parents. “And then I whacked him on the head with the sword. – He didn’t see _that_ coming. – Not even the second time.” That at least explains the scolding, Amenadiel thinks wryly. Of course their Mother would disapprove of them arguing and hurting each other. And Samael feels unjustly treated. “He ran tattling, of course,” Samael spits in disgust, chin jutting as his attacks on the ground grow more vicious.

 

“And then Mother scolded you,” Amenadiel concludes and Samael gives a sad little nod.

 

“She didn’t even believe me, when I told her that Uriel cheated. – He always cheats,” he adds ruefully, shoulders slumping. “She didn’t believe me. But I don’t lie. – I never lie. You know that, right?” Hopeful eyes look up at him imploringly and Amenadiel feels compelled to nod.

 

“Of course I do, little brother.” But he also suspects that some part of the story Samael has just told him is left unsaid – he was prone to omit a thing or two, if it suited him.

 

“Mum doesn’t.” Dejected Samael casts his eyes down and fiddles with the sword in his hand. He looks thoroughly miserable and Amenadiel can’t stand to see his baby brother this crestfallen. He feels it his duty as a responsible elder brother to cheer him up. “And I don’t understand why Father keeps pairing me up with Uriel. – It’s not fair.”

 

“Have you considered that Father probably has good reasons for pairing you with Uriel? You should attempt to understand the lesson he is trying to teach you.” Samael harrumphs in reply, not seeing his brother’s logic and Amenadiel struggles not to sigh. A different approach, then.

 

“Well, since my sparring partner has not returned yet and yours is currently incapacitated, why don’t you train with me, mh?” he offers lightly. Immediately the little angel looks up again, eyes wide and round.

 

“I can train with you?” he asks wide-eyed, seemingly unable to believe his words. “Just the two of us?”

 

“Yes, if you’d like to.” But then Sam’s face clouds over again. “Something wrong?”

 

“Mum said that I am to stay here until I apologise,” he mumbles miserably, gaze dropping to the ground again.

 

“ _Here_ as in on this rock? Or _here_ as in outside?” Amenadiel asks after a moment of quiet pondering. He is certainly not one to go against their parents’ orders, but this one sounded unspecific enough to work around. And distracting Samael will eventually lead to him admitting his mistakes and apologising as their Mother has instructed. Wary eyes look at him, as Samael contemplates his words.

 

“She didn’t say _right_ here,” he finally replies slyly, his lips curving up in a mischievous smile.

 

“Well, that’s settled then,” Amenadiel decides. “Do you want to train with me?” Samael’s face lights up happily as he slides off the rock quickly, landing light-footedly on the ground.

 

“Yes! Yes, I do!” Amenadiel watches bemused as Sam fairly bounces on his feet in excitement.

 

“Great.” He gets to his feet as well. “Pick that up.” He motions towards the wooden sword still lying on the ground. “And put it in its proper place.” Samael scrambles to obey and returns to Amenadiel’s side almost instantly, watching closely as he picks a training sword for himself.

 

“Are we going to fight?”

 

“Not yet,” Amenadiel admonishes. “Practice steps first.” He guides Samael to the wooden dummies, motioning towards one of them with his free hand. “Take your stance.” He watches closely as Sam follows his order. His small face puckers in concentration, as he raises the sword up, holding it with one hand. Amenadiel marvels at his perfect stance. Feet shoulder width apart, with the leading foot slightly forward, knees bent and sword loosely grasped in the guard position. His little brother has the making of a truly magnificent sword fighter.

 

“Well done, Sam,” he praises. “Start with a shoulder attack.” He observes as Sam strikes at the dummy. “Good. Again.” Sam executes the strike, then returns to starting position, his eyes dart to Amenadiel’s face. “Good. But keep your eyes on your opponent. – Again.” Amenadiel makes him repeat the same strike several more times before switching to the other shoulder.

 

Sam goes about his practice very diligently, following his brother’s orders closely and quickly, eager to please. His previous trainings have paid off already. Amenadiel only has to correct his foot work on two occasions and he makes sure to praise him sufficiently for his prowess. When he is certain that Sam can indeed handle his attacks flawlessly and even manages the training patterns well enough, he allows him a small break to catch his breath.

 

“That was very good, Sam.” He is rewarded with a beaming face and he ruffles Samael’s curls. “I won’t have to watch you during the next round. We’ll train side by side.”

 

“Will we fight at the end of our training?” Samael asks again, eagerly, one hand wiping the sweat from his forehead.

 

“If you train diligently, we will, yes,” Amenadiel amends.

 

“I will! I promise!” Sam’s eyes are sparkling with excitement and Amenadiel feels elated that he was able to cheer his brother up. The youngest angels are always keen for some one-on-one time with their eldest brother. But Amenadiel is often busy with their Father’s tasks. He does not have as much time as he wishes to educate the young, which makes this moment that much more important and precious. He gives Sam a soft smile and, remembering that Sam relishes in physical affection, ruffles his hair again.

 

“Ready to go again?” Receiving an eager nod, Amenadiel carefully takes his stance in front of one of the dummies, holding his sword up and ready to strike. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam copying his movements. “Alright, you know the drills. Commence.”

 

For several minutes the only sounds are those of clattering swords and their heavy breathing. Amenadiel divides his attention in equal parts on his own attacks and Sam’s strikes. He mentally takes note of his brother’s missteps and plans to correct them later during their sparring. He also keeps a close eye on Sam’s movements to detect any sign of fatigue. He is still young and oh so small. The wooden sword will grow heavy over time and he will tire a lot sooner than Amenadiel himself. But Sam is a fighter and he holds on a lot longer than Amenadiel first thought. Still, when he notices the first tremors in Sam’s arm, he calls for a pause.

 

They do defence stances next. Amenadiel might as well squeeze in a whole training session since the likelihood of another one-on-one session to occur in the near future is rather slim. Samael does remarkably well with this task too. Amenadiel makes sure to correct his mistakes and missteps and has him repeat the drills he struggles with several times.

 

“Concentrate, Sam. – Don’t slack off,” he chides, as Sam has failed to parry his attack for the third time. Amenadiel _knows_ that Sam can do better, which makes the rebuke a bit harsher than necessary.

 

“This is boring!”

 

“You mustn’t neglect the basics, Samael,” Amenadiel says. “If you want to become a great sword fighter. – Don’t you want to excel at this task and someday be better than your elder siblings?”

 

A grumpy “yes” is the reply and Sam lifts his sword again, but Amenadiel can tell that his heart isn’t in it anymore. They continue for a few more minutes; Amenadiel feigning the strike and Sam trying to parry. Then Amenadiel halts their drill, before Sam loses interest again.

 

“A short break, and then we’ll spar,” Amenadiel decides and Sam’s face lights up again. “You know the rules?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Sam says and waves one hand dismissively, but upon Amenadiel’s prompting gaze, recites them quickly. “No flying, no strikes to the head and if the opponent is down, retreat.”

 

“Very good.” Amenadiel nods approvingly as he lowers himself to the ground and watches as Sam bounces on the balls of his feet excitedly.

 

“You said we are going to fight!” he complains loudly, hovering over Amenadiel with a disgruntled look on his face. “Why are you sitting down?”

 

“We will, you little pest,” Amenadiel replies. “Sit down. We’re having a break.”

 

“I don’t need a break!” There was a definite whiny undertone in Sam’s voice.

 

“Yes, you do.”

 

“No, I don’t.” A sudden mischievous grin stretches across his face. “Unless _you_ need a break. – Because you’re old.”

 

“Old? You’re calling me old!” Amenadiel exclaims with mock anger, making a grab for Sam who dances out of reach quickly.

 

“But you are,” he sings with a laugh. “So old you need to sit down and rest.”

 

“I’ll show you old,” Amenadiel grouses good-naturedly and quickly catches Sam around the waist, pulling him down against his body and enjoying his surprised shriek. He holds him with one arm while poking his finger into Sam’s soft tummy eliciting laughter and plenty of wriggling. But Amenadiel shows no mercy as he skims his fingers over Sam’s sides.

 

“Stop!” he shrieks and tries to fend off Amenadiel’s relentless hands that ruthlessly torture his sensitive skin.

 

“Do you surrender?”

 

“Yes! Yes!” Sam gasps through his giggles and Amenadiel ceases his attacks, but keeps Sam firmly pressed to his body.

 

“You sure?” he asks with a grin, hand raised ready to strike.

 

“Yes!” Sam is still giggling when Amenadiel lets him go and he rolls himself off his big brother’s lap, sprawling onto the grass and breathing heavily.

 

“There should be a no tickling rule!” Sam demands after catching his breath. He sits up and inches closer, slumping against Amenadiel’s side. “It is unfair because you are not ticklish.” One little finger pokes into his side tentatively.

 

“Mmh-mmh. If you’d like, we can make it a rule for today.” He wraps his arm around his brother’s small form and cranes his neck a bit to see his reaction. Sam nods. “Then it’s a rule for today. I’m just going to have to find another way to defeat you.”

 

“Ha!” Sam exclaims loudly. “You’ll never defeat me!”

 

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, brother,” Amenadiel replies. “Are you ready to fight?”

 

“Yes!” They get to their feet, Sam a lot faster than Amenadiel, and he is already shuffling his feet impatiently by the time Amenadiel retrieves his practice sword.

 

“Now, remember your attacks and defences,” Amenadiel admonishes. In hindsight, Amenadiel had wasted his breath with that order. Sam charges at him heedlessly, seemingly forgetting everything they have practiced for the last hours. He steps to the side as Sam rushes at him, hacking clumsily with his sword. It doesn’t even come close to touching Amenadiel. He pops the flat side of his sword on Sam’s arm, taking advantage of his poor defence. “Keep your sword up, Sam. – Don’t rush head first into battle! – Think!” are just a few of the amendments Amenadiel offers as he parries Sam’s inept attempts. He uses his own sword to land a few hits on Samael’s legs and arms, but mainly sticks with blocking and evading his brother’s attacks.

 

As the fight continues, Amenadiel senses Sam’s growing frustration, but doesn’t halt their fight, clinging to the hope that Samael will realise his mistakes on his own. He doesn’t.

 

And then, with a huff of frustration, Sam materialises his wings and takes off. Reacting quickly Amenadiel grabs at his ankle, holding him effortlessly in place.

 

“No flying,” he orders sternly. “Get your feet back on the ground.” He underlines his orders with a short yank before releasing him. Samael lands with ill grace, a frown deeply set on his face as he glares at him and his wings vanish. “Sword up.” Sam reacts to the terse command out of instinct. “Try again.”

 

Samael charges at Amenadiel again without rhyme or reason. It only takes Amenadiel a quick step to the side to avoid the attack. As his little brother rushes past, unable to adapt to Amenadiel’s sudden movement, he slaps the flat side of his sword lightly against Sam’s rear. Samael comes to a skidding stop and whirls around, eyes flashing in anger and frustration, sword arm raised.

 

“Do _not_ throw that sword!” Anticipating Sam’s next move, he points his sword at him in warning. His spine tenses and a look of apprehension crosses Sam’s face at Amenadiel’s sharp order and he is quick to lower his sword arm and drop his gaze.

 

Amenadiel lets him stew for a few tense moments, regarding him sternly as Sam fiddles with the hilt of his sword and shifts uncomfortably. Amenadiel does not condone these bursts of anger and their parents trust in him to keep his younger siblings in line in their absence. It is not an uncommon occurrence that he be left in charge of his brothers and sisters and Samael respects him enough to take his dire tone seriously.

 

Anxious eyes dart between Amenadiel’s face and his own feet, as he awaits his chastisement.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he cannot stand the silence any longer. Amenadiel doesn’t reply, just regards Sam in contemplative silence.

 

“As you should be,” Amenadiel finally says. “You will never win a fight if this is your plan of attack.” Sam’s face darkens again. “No, I don’t want to see any more tantrums. You had best keep a lid on that temper.” His face contorts with visible effort as Sam fights down his anger.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Amenadiel sighs heavily.

 

“You need to be aware of your strengths and weaknesses when you’re going to battle,” he explains, softening his tone again, now that Sam was ready to listen again. “And you have to evaluate your opponent’s strengths and flaws.” Samael looks at him questioningly.

 

“But how do I do that?” he asks.

 

“All right, let’s see. – What would you say my greatest strength is?”

 

After a brief moment of pondering, Sam replies, “You’re very strong.”

 

“That’s right. – And my flaw?”

 

Another, this time longer, moment passes before Sam comes to a conclusion.

 

“You’re not very fast.”

 

“Exactly right. Well done,” Amenadiel praises, but Sam still looks sceptical and unsure. “Now, think about your strengths and which one of those would be useful in battle against a fighter like myself.”

 

And finally realisation dawns on Sam’s face as he gives his words proper thought.

 

“I’m small,” he says slowly. “And quick. – I can move faster than you?” He looks up at Amenadiel questioningly.

 

“Exactly! – You have to use your strengths and your opponent’s weaknesses to your advantage. – You will not overpower me, Sam, but you might get in a few good hits if you use your speed properly.”

 

“I see,” Sam says, nodding vigorously. “I can do that.” Hopeful eyes find Amenadiel’s face again. “Can – can we do that again? Although I’ve been naughty?” He probably shouldn’t reward one of Sam’s temper tantrums, but he did stop himself just in time (with a little help) and it would be crucial for Sam’s development that they continue now.

 

“Yes, but don’t make a habit of it,” he adds sternly.

 

“I won’t! I’m sorry!”

 

“All right then, take your stance.”

 

Sam charges again, but Amenadiel immediately notices the difference in his attacks. He’s not rushing heedlessly into battle, but his blows seem premediated, his attacks deliberate. Amenadiel is still able to fend of Sam’s attempts, but he makes sure to allow him a few hits after especially good tries.

 

Amenadiel ends their training probably a lot sooner than Sam would have liked, but his brother doesn’t complain.

 

“Have you learned anything from this then?” Sam falters with the sword in his hand, the tip touching the rack. Amenadiel watches as he bites his lip in consideration.

 

“I guess so.” He puts the sword in its proper place and turns to look at Amenadiel. “I have to use my strengths better when I’m fighting Uriel. – And have to find a way to exploit his weaknesses. – But it’s going to be difficult to work around his ability.” A flicker of resentment crosses Sam’s face, but it disappears so quickly that Amenadiel almost missed it.

 

“That’s right. – It will be very difficult to be so unpredictable that Uriel will not see the patterns in your attacks. But I believe that you will manage just fine, Sam.” His brother looks up at him, hopeful eyes imploring that Amenadiel is not jesting. He isn’t. He is certain that Samael will one day be a truly great sword fighter.

 

“Now, do you think that you could have handled your argument differently?” he asks nonetheless and watches as the smile drops off Sam’s face.

 

“Yes.” A long-suffering sigh follows. “I suppose so.”

 

“I agree.” Amenadiel nods. “Do you understand now why Father insists you work with Uriel?”

 

“He wants me to become better? To find my strengths?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Then I will.” He sounds so determined that Amenadiel has no doubts that Sam will work very hard to appease their parents.

 

“Very good.”

 

“I suppose Mum was right to scold me,” he says after a beat of silence. A disgruntled frown on his face conveying how much he doesn’t like that thought.

 

“And why do you think that?” Amenadiel questions.

 

“I shouldn’t have hit Uriel on the head. We’re not supposed to do that. – But I was so angry,” he adds and Amenadiel can’t contain his deeply disapproving look at his brother’s statement.

 

“Hm. Ready to go back now?” Samael gives a vacuous shrug in reply.

 

“I suppose I should apologise.”

 

“What makes you think so?”

 

“We aren’t supposed to hit each other on the head. – And I hurt Uriel.”

 

Amenadiel hums in agreement and they walk in contemplative silence for a while.

 

“Mum said I had to apologise.” Sam lifts his face, a mischievous grin playing around his mouth. “She never said I had to apologise to Uriel.” Amenadiel halts abruptly on the path, stopping Sam with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 

“But you know what Mother intended, don’t you, Sam?” He looks at him imploringly, until Sam looks away, uneasy. And Amenadiel feels a sense of relief flood him. But then Sam lifts his chin defiantly, his expression contorting into a sulk.

 

“But she didn’t say so.”

 

“We do not question Mother and Father,” Amenadiel admonishes. Sam returns his gaze, seemingly deeply unimpressed by his words. “Samael.” The tone, sharp and warning, finally seems to reach him. Sam averts his eyes, suddenly immensely interested in his shuffling feet.

 

“I’ll apologise,” he mumbles.

 

“To?”

 

“Mum – and Uriel.”

 

“Good.” They commence towards their home, each deeply in thought. Amenadiel wonders briefly if he is at fault for Samael’s sudden interest in finding ways around their parents’ orders.

 

 

Many millennia later Amenadiel will regret ever showing Samael loopholes. And for a long time he feels that he has corrupted his innocent little brother that afternoon on the training fields.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for any blatant mistakes. I know nothing about sword fighting ;) and I'll probably have difficulty writing this in German, trying to do so in English was an immense struggle. But I needed some fluff with our favourite brothers ;) So please bear with the foreigner ;D
> 
> I'm always happy about constructive criticism to improve my writing :)


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